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The Wind River Range: Knapsack Col

HIHO: "Hike In, Hike Out" When a thruhiker hikes into town, does necessary town chores, and gets back out on trail, all within the day.

**Every now and again hikers will make up words. This is a recent addition to a thruhikers vocabulary and is still catching on.**

 

HIHOing was a relatively new concept to me. Towns were made for stopping and relaxing, not getting in and out as quickly as possible. But Ranger and I were so eager to keep momentum we decided to make Pinedale a quick stop. We managed a hitch in early in the morning, stopped at a coffee shop, went to church, ate at a restaurant (where we met our first southbound thruhiker), swung by the visitors center, managed to get showers and laundry at a hostel, washed pots and cleaned filters, charged devices to max capacity, catch up with our families, and resupply, all before hopping back on trail and knocking off six miles of the side trail (we had to detour 11 miles off the CDT to get to a trailhead to resupply).



We were now in grizzly bear country, and had to be diligent about safety. I tossed my newly acquired bear spray in my tent, and made sure I felt confident finding it in the dark before I drifted off to sleep.


 


I got up early as the sun was touching the mountains. I struggled to overcome annoyance at my heavy pack and the uphill miles back to the CDT, but finally the side trail rejoined the route.



I turned onto unfamiliar territory and started making my way toward the distant mountains. In no time I got to Knapsack Col alternate. A large rocky lake with jagged mountains peeking up in the background greeted me, surrounded by wildflowers. I joined Ranger on a beach as he jumped in the clear water. It seemed a little early and cold for a swim, so instead I ate food as we killed over an hour there.



Moving on, the wildflowers painted the ground every color imaginable, and the distant mountains grew closer as the white snow contrasted with the dark shadows.


Every few miles offered another lake and another opportunity for relaxation. Finally I decided the conditions were right for a swim. I waded in, the wind rippling the water to warn me of the cold to come. I ducked my head under the waves. It was frigid.


I dried out in the sun, delaying the big hill with a heavy pack scheduled for the end of the day. It was late afternoon and we had heard the climb up the pass was slow going over rocks and snow. As we neared we considered doing it on fresh legs the next day. The foot of the mountain convinced us to go no further. The rugged mountains at our front, the lakes at our back, a grassy patch under our feet, and walls of cliffs on either side of us... it was the most beautiful camping spot in the world.


 

I was deep asleep when I woke up to the rain. I was surprised to find that it was only midnight and closed my tent fly to keep stuff from getting wet. I had just slipped back into a dose when the wind started soon after. My tent flapped obnoxiously, the wind whipping it as a flag. It wasn't threatening to fall, but it was keeping me awake, and my earplugs were with my smelly toiletries in the bear bag tied to the rock far away. I knew I wouldn't be able to get back to sleep with the ruckus and didn't feel like getting out, so I propped my extra trekking pole against the wall. That helped stabilize the silnylon but the wind still ripped at it. I pushed my sleeping pad against the wall to tighten the sail. It seemed to calm the flapping down a little bit but not enough. Finally I gave up and got out to grab my ear plugs and reinforce my tent stakes with rocks. They had gotten loose with the force of the wind. I had lost two to three hours of sleep by the time I was able to drift off again. So at six o'clock when my alarm vibrated into my dream I wanted to turn over and go back to sleep. But an early day was necessary, as the weather was holding for the present but may not last long. We did not want to be scrambling up mountains in the rain.

View from my tent

We headed out over the rocks as the clouds blocked out the sky. I was nervous that it was going to precipitate before we got up to the pass, making the rocks slippery and too dangerous, but it held off. As we climbed toward Knapsack Col we got views of an ice cave carved into Twin Glaciers. We maintained a good pace up the steep rockface, but as we neared the pass we encountered snow and boulders. I stepped in old footprints punched into the snow, taking it carefully as I had no ice ax to help arrest a fall. I then faced a ladder of boulders to the top. It seemed like one false step could wiggle a rock loose and send an avalanche down. We paused at the top to gaze at the sun haloing the towers beyond, mist obscuring the mountains. It was eerily beautiful.


We picked our way down the rocky backside and then followed a river of snowmelt down to a valley where the thick green grasses were smothered in wildflowers. The trail skirted a lake and crossed over a waterfall of rocks tumbling straight into the water. I tried not to think about how a single misstep would send me tumbling into that same blue water. Finally I began the long, long, long descent out of the mountains, navigating through a fun massive mess of boulders and rocks before falling into the trees with switchback after switchback. I had a quick lunch to get as many miles in before the yet-to-come rain.


Rain came. I popped up my umbrella in stride, delighted at the simplicity of the item. I had made it to the bottom of the hill and followed the trail along a river, flat and beautiful. I saw a mama moose and her baby in the field across the river, the rock towers above and the glacier blue river flowing beside them. The rain died after a few hours and the skies cleared and the sun got to work drying the earth.



I stopped by a tree for a little while to take a break. My legs were tired of walking. Sometimes they get like that. But dinnertime was approaching, so I soon took off and completed three miles among tall grasses and sudden building clouds. Ranger caught up and we quickly decided to eat dinner in log building just off trail. It was an old hand-hewn cabin, long neglected but clean. I ducked into the doorway just as the rain started to fall. Score. I cooked up some mac and cheese as lightning flickered in the distance.


It soon became clear that our dinner spot would turn into our camp spot as we ate and watched the storm build. Thunder shook the old logs. We had planned to do 3-4 more miles after eating but there was no way I was about to leave the comfort of a roof and walls. We blocked out one of the many wide windows with a ground tarp and then got busy setting up tents to keep out bugs and mice. I had to get creative setting up my nonfreestanding tent. The result was a lopsided saggy structure, but it did the job. We settled in for the night, listening to the rain batter the world outside. This was living.



 

I woke up inside a cloud. Thick fog had settled in the valley, coating the earth with a fine mist. The wet grasses brushed against my legs and within seconds I was completely soaked from my knees down. The trail led up a gently hill, then climbed steeply out of the cloud. When I emerged from the white world below, the Wind River Range towered above the river of fog.



Wet and frustrated at the long climb and pesky mosquitoes, I faced a section of blowdown trees. Pace slowed, and I was relieved when the trail turned to meander along the river with few obstacles.

However, after about ten minutes I started to become suspicious. When I had looked at my map earlier that day I saw there was supposed to be a lot of climbing, but the trail was mild. I looked at my app again and saw my GPS dot was floating a half mile off the trial. I turned around, upset, and started my way back. On the return journey the trail faded to nothingness; I couldn't figure out which way I had come, so I resorted to following the river through thick, wet marsh grasses and mud to make it back to the CDT.


Finally I emerged back onto the CDT and retraced my path, curios where I had gone astray. When I looked at my map again I found I had made the same mistake and was following a side trail. I backtracked 20 feet until my GPS showed I was on the CDT. I studied the trail. A tree had fallen across the trail and the only obvious path was a trail that led to the right. But that had been wrong. Upon closer inspection, I found an old wooden marker hung crooked on a tree. the "trail" nearly doubled back in a sharp turn to the left. The area was impacted but any semblance of a trail didn't appear until I started that way. That was annoying.


The trail climbed steeply and at the top I found the other side that was hazy, wafts of smoky smell filled air. I was happy to see that the hills beyond were not as deep as the ones I had climbed and started to cruise down. I stopped for a late lunch as clouds moved in and it again started to rain. It seemed it was always raining in Wyoming. I sat wearily underneath my umbrella, sad that this was what the day had come to. The rain only lasted a half hour.


I continued up the trail, singing to myself when I heard a crack in the woods. "I am a human. Fear me!" I shouted, thinking it was a bear. I looked up and saw it was a cow and her friends. I immediately apologized, assuring them they actually didn't have to fear me, and thanked them for their cheese. They considered me warily as I passed by. I emerged from the trees into a field filled with hundreds and hundreds of of cows. I was not expecting that. They all stared at me as I started along the edge of their pasture, thousands of eyes watching my every move. Some chewed on their cud, unimpressed as I passed. Some of them fled quickly, pushing others out of their way to get distance from me. There were a couple of bulls that protectively stood guard over their females. It was incredible and nerve-wracking walking as a helpless predator among huge prey animals that could do me harm if they chose.



Later I came to a lake and encountered the worst mosquitoes all trail. I slapped my way around the water aggressively, wishing I could have a good place to stop and chill for a bit, but they didn't allow for such a thing. Finally the trail popped up over a little hill and down steeply into another cow pasture and the bugs disappeared with the trees.


It was nearing the end of the day and Ranger and I joined a road for easy walking. It was nice and breezy on the road with views of the mountains.


We sat for dinner in the field among some sage bushes. I didn't think I was hungry but as I ate, I found I kept reaching into my food bag for more. We were about to pack up when we heard an ATV coming up the road. I panicked. Should we hitch? It was my dream to get a hitch in an ATV along one of the many dirt roads the trail shared. Our stuff was still scattered out on the grass and if they had offered us a ride it wouldn't be ready, although I could have quickly gathered things up. I sat frozen, unsure of what to do.

They passed, giving us a friendly wave. We packed up dinner and started moving again as the ATV returned. We waved when they approached and stepped off the road. The guy rolled down his window and asked if we wanted any snacks or water. "What kind of snacks?" Ranger inquisitively asked with hopeful optimism. The guy hopped out of his ATV, opened up the trunk of the fancy rig, and pulled out snack after snack after snack. He offered us granola bars and string cheese, Twizzlers, chocolate, flavored water... My eyes lit up when he pulled out a can of mandarin oranges. Wow! Could this be for real?! The sweet sweet nectar. He handed the can over.


We graciously thanked him and his wife. I laughed as we walked down the road, pulling out the bloated oranges with my dirty fingers and slurping down they syrup. Such a joyous thing to receive. It was humorous to take a step back and look at the picture: I was walking down a road in the middle of nowhere in Wyoming. A man pulls over and offers us a can of nectarines. My day is made. Thruhiking is nice like that.


We continued for three more miles along the road until the sun set. I happily pitched my tent, crawling inside, eager to go to bed.



 


The next day the trail was rather mild through a dead zone of trees and grassy fields. I got to a junction where we could decide to take the red line or the blue line (see thruhiker dictionary). The blue line was the old CDT, and held a lot of gravel roadwalks, whereas the red was the rerouted trail through the woods. The blue route was almost half the distance of the red. The red route apparently was overgrown because nobody took it. It was a pretty easy choice. Markers placed across the landscape does not a trail make. I didn't want to bushwhack for miles. I continued up the old road.


Not far into the blue route we stopped for lunch near where a bear had been guarding a kill a couple weeks ago, but there was no sign of him. The sun was shiny and we had a good patch of shade. We decided to take a random shortcut someone suggested on our navigation app. It followed an old road and then bushwhacked cross country for a mile or two, cutting off two and a half miles in the end. It seemed like it'd be a fun adventure, especially because we had already decided to take the easy way out by following the blue line. We took off down the road and came to the bushwhack zone. We wove our way through the trees and brush following old animal trails and trying to keep as straight a line as possible. The bushwhack led us to the top of a cliffside of lava rock. Talus and boulders crumbled off the edge, and we surveyed the mess for a safe way down. It was a little steep and sketchy slipping through the ancient rocks but taking it slow we made it safely. The remainder of the shortcut distracted us with hundreds of wild strawberries, and finally we popped out onto the official trail/road again.



It didn't really save much time, only miles, and I was happy to be back on the clear trail. Skies that had been clear all morning suddenly held thick clouds. It unexpectedly started to spill. I pushed through the torrents of rain and hail that seemed to be sporadic and uncertain. I huddled under my umbrella, yelling joyously, embracing the suck. But after the rain died down the real misery began. The dirt road was saturated enough to be slick with mud, and every step sent to me sliding backwards, creating very frustrating walking. The rain started up again, and mosquitoes emerged with the clouds and rain.


I finally made it to the yurt as the rain started to fade. I had found the hidden gem on my map earlier that day. Eagerly, I opened the door and saw that it was indeed dirty, but incredible. A wood stove sat next to a window with a stack of wood next to it. A table and two chairs were in the center. A bunk bed was pushed against the back wall, and a twin bed against the other window. I was surprised to see sheets, blankets and pillows on the mattresses. No mice had gotten to them, aside from a few turds on the table. Everything came with a small bit of dirt, and an area of floor was wet because of the rain. The walls were a patchwork of blankets and insulation. It was better than I had expected. You never know what you are going to find in the woods. I got to work tidying up. I restacked the firewood and gathered up all the trash, shook out the rugs and swept the floor. When I was finished it was a little bit better; it felt more like home.



We made dinner, taking advantage of the luxuries of a table. I made a fire in the wood stove to dry our soaking shoes and socks. It was beautiful to watch the fire burn, popping and steaming in the cool evening.


 

I slept like an Egyptian mummy. It was possibly the best night sleep I'd gotten all trail. It was incredible to wake in the crisp air in a homey yurt. I felt like we should have a nice hot breakfast. Instead I munched on a granola bar wrapped in my sleeping bag. The plan was to nearo into town, and we were in no rush to head out early. The hike out was a delightfully easy few miles along a dirt road, and we made it to the highway in no time.


We eyed the clouds. It was getting dark and speckles of rain started to hit us. We wearily stood roadside waiting for the next car. The road was rather empty. A few cars passed, and finally one slowed and then stopped. The guy in the front seat told us they didn't have a lot of room but if we could squeeze he would give us a ride. Usually when people say they are full, they underestimate how willing hikers are to scrunch, cram, lay, and contort to move on four wheels. More often than not there is plenty of space to get people and packs in the car. I assumed this would be the case. But I was surprised to find the three seater bench was filled with people and their trunk was completely packed with camping gear. For the first time, I had my doubts we could all fit. Still, Ranger and I threw our packs on top of their overflowing mess and squeezed in. I half squatted, half sat on the edge of the seat as they all folded on top of each other. They were a delightful group of friends, and excitedly asked about our trip. The half hour drive to town went by pretty quick, aside from my aching thighs and sore butt cheek.


Dubois was a perfect trail town. A mile long end-to-end, with a generous church that opened doors for sleeping, a campground for cleaning up, a well-stocked grocery, and delicious restaurants. We settled into the church and I headed to take a shower. I let the water run hot and long, scrubbing away the dirt of the week. The rest of the day was filled with chores and games. As evening turned, the rain started to patter outside. Finally I crawled into bed under the table where I had set up my air pad.


We had secured permits for Yellowstone, the next stop along our journey.




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